The Way He Prays
by Kiyoshi Kitana
Summary: PG; mostly hints at Castiel/Sam more than anything else. After slogging through hundreds of demons, it feels good to be in the presence of something holy.


**Title: **The Way He Prays  
**Author: **Kitana  
**Warnings: **PG; mostly hints at Castiel/Sam more than anything else. _After slogging through hundreds of demons, it feels good to be in the presence of something holy_. Written for dreamwidth's kink bingo challenge, prompt: worship. ~750 words.  
**Notes: **Castiel threw a wrench in the porny plans I had for this fic. Blame him fully. :P

***

The first time Sam meets Dean's rescuing angel, Castiel, he is ready to drop to his knees then and there. However, in order not to embarrass himself, he instead settles for a handshake instead of kneeling like Castiel's stature commands him to. After slogging through hundreds of demons, it feels good to be in the presence of something holy. Castiel's hands are warm on his, and Sam feels like Castiel is prying open his box of secrets with his plain blue eyes and the simple statement of Sam's name. Sam knows he has sinned, there is no doubt there; Castiel's presence is like redemption itself.

Later, Sam is somewhat disappointed that Castiel is nothing like the angel legends he's heard, so he ends up agreeing with Dean when Dean relays that the angels are, with little doubt, assholes. Nevertheless, that thought doesn't stop Sam from feeling the urge to confess and repent the next time Castiel makes an appearance. By the fifth time Sam's become reacquainted with Castiel and Castiel's knowing gaze shifts his way, he has to excuse himself so that his secrets don't come spilling out unbidden.

It's that night that Castiel comes to him instead of Dean.

Sam opens his eyes, sits up on the bed in the hotel room he's sharing with Dean. He looks around briefly; Dean isn't in bed and the bathroom isn't occupied, but before he can jump up in suspicion, Sam finds Castiel is sitting where Dean should be, watching soundlessly.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Sam says, kicking off his blankets. He feels a kind of panic welling up in his chest despite himself when his feet hit rough, flat carpet. "Where's Dean?"

Castiel simply cocks his head to the side and regards Sam with his best amused expression (which, to be honest, is barely a quirk of lips). "The only question that should be asked, Sam Winchester, is why have you called me here?"

"I didn't," Sam says, and in hindsight, he won't believe he said that – and with a straight face, no less.

"Quite the contrary," Castiel murmurs and rises up from Dean's bed. Sam is frozen as Castiel moves to sit beside him instead. "You have something you wish to tell me."

It isn't a question at all.

"Not sure where you got that idea, but no, I don't," Sam says in response. He turns away from Castiel, suddenly feeling protective of his self. Sam clamps his jaw down tight; Castiel is getting nothing from him. Sam flinches when Castiel's palm touches his shoulder.

"Sam," Castiel replies, his voice like silk over steel. "I already know what it is you want to say. Still, it does no good if you don't say it for yourself."

Sam looks back at Castiel, and even though he is trying his best to look emotionless, he knows everything is bleeding out through his eyes. It always does; it's his weakness, nearly as much as Dean is, how he can't really keep anything in no matter how hard he tries. Wordlessly, Sam slides off of his perch on the edge of the bed. Castiel finds himself mildly surprised when Sam wedges himself between his open legs, but Castiel doesn't think the surprise translates on to his face.

"You're the closest I'm going to get to God, aren't you?"

Castiel pauses briefly, staring down at Sam. Sam's expression is one of resignation, mostly, with other bits that Castiel is not yet adept at reading. Humans are so complex, and angels so simple. Castiel finds it hard to fathom sometimes, the reason why his father would create such huge discrepancies.

When Castiel is ready to answer, he smoothes one hand into Sam's hair and pushes the messy strands back from Sam's forehead. "I honestly cannot say."

Sam closes his eyes, but leans into Castiel's touch. "I figured you wouldn't be able to."

Despite Castiel's admission, Sam gets comfortable on his knees and pillows his head on Castiel's thigh. A sense of peace washes over him as Castiel threads fingers through his hair soothingly.

That night, Sam does nothing but listen to Castiel breathe, but he's alright like that. Castiel may claim to already know his thoughts, and really, Sam is pretty sure that Castiel _does_ know, but Sam isn't ready to speak on his transgressions. Silent worship, for now, will need to be enough.

Castiel doesn't press the issue; he simply waits until his can't feel anymore traces of turmoil on the surface of Sam's aura and then makes his exit, leaving Sam dreaming comfortably and without nightmares come sunrise.

Sam will call him again, Castiel is sure of that. It'll be then that he sees how far deep the well of Sam's need goes.


End file.
